Red Flags
By Juris Jurjevics
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; $26; 320 pages

Review by Mark James

The Vietnam War, or “Conflict” as the government labeled it, continues to torment us over 35 years after we left. Histories have appeared and been revised, and a collection of fiction is accumulating. Juris Jurjevics adds to that collection with “Red Flags,” set in the early days of our involvement. Jurjevics is a Vietnam veteran who served for 14 months, 9 days, and 2 hours, his departure complicated by the Tet Offensive,” or so it states on the book jacket. It’s an implication that Jurjevics didn’t enjoy his time there, a sentiment that is explicit in the story. It was a nasty time full of nasty people out to get what they could, and Jurjevics brings them to us in this retrospective novel set in the remote outpost of Cheo Reo.

Erik Rider is a veteran living out his days in the isolation of Northern California. His hermitic life is interrupted by the arrival of the daughter of a colonel who was killed in Vietnam. She wants to know the real story of her father’s death; Rider grudgingly obliges, and over the course of the night and into the morning, he tells her of his time serving with her father. He was there as an undercover agent investigating a drug operation; what he found was a veritable maze of corruption, double-crossing, CIA complicity, and American stupidity that came to define our time there. It’s set during the early ’60s, when Americans were still “advisors,” but as one South Vietnamese colonel says in his broken English, “My country old, like this war. We fight French, Japan, Chinese all time … Now America teach to us how make war.” It was an irony not lost on Rider, but one that cost the American colonel his life.

Red Flags is a crime novel on the surface, but cloaked beneath that façade is a exposé of the powers that came together to guide, and profit from, the war. Jurjevics spares no one — Americans, Vietnamese, French, even the churches that were “ministering” to the local population. Masking his story as a crime novel is a shrewd choice; his military detective gets to investigate everyone, but ultimately is not allowed to do anything about anyone. Everyone who is anyone is protected by someone, and whether it’s intentional or not, this crime novel looms as an analogy, and commentary, on the war as a whole.

The novel opens with the statement, “Someday was standing on the gravel in front of Bert’s store …,” a poetic opening for a crime/war novel. Jurjevics cultivates an appreciation for the country and culture through his prose. Rider tells his own story, and his descriptions of their customs, from births and funerals to the food, offer an education that evokes sympathy for the Vietnamese villagers and Montagnard tribesmen caught in the middle. It’s a human side to the undercover agent jaded and haunted by what he experienced there. He knew the colonel’s daughter would show up someday, just as he knew that he would probably give her what she wanted. In the end, she gives him what he deserves in the form of a simple “Thank you.”

The Skateboard: The Good, the Rad, and the Gnarly
Written by Ben Marcus; Photography by Lucia Daniella Griggi
MVP Books/Quayside Publishing; 255 pages; $35

Reviewed by Mark James

I don’t really care for coffee table books, those dust collector/footrests/paperweights that are must-haves but are hardly ever cracked before they end up at the Goodwill store or in the trash. But this one brought back so many memories — skinned knees, torn Levis (and a pissed-off mother), running from the police after trespassing at the St. Augustine Amphitheater to skate the only hill around — that it made me want to do it all over again.

Ben Marcus traces the history and evolution from early roller skates (invented in the 1760s in London) and early twentieth-century scooters (check out a “Little Rascals” movie) to “sidewalk surfing” and urethane wheels. The first commercial skateboard may have been made in 1956, but no one knows for sure. Greg Noll sold some in his shop in the late ’50s, but he didn’t see the potential in it and stopped making them, a decision he later regretted because, as he says, “a lot of guys got rich from something I didn’t think was going anywhere.” The business and popularity experienced ups and downs until the likes of Tony Hawk made it profitable and always fun.

Marcus states in the introduction that “cred is important in skateboarding,” and he immediately establishes his. He’s lived a good bit of skateboarding history, growing up and skating in Santa Cruz in the ’70s, and he’s there to trace the history that took off in the 1960s. It’s a history that includes the advent of Vans (the first men’s pair sold for $5.99) to the Ollie, and all the way to the X Gamers of today. But it’s the pictures that make this book.

Marcus has dug up photos from Surf Guide, an early ’60s publication, and Quarterly Skateboarder, an early magazine devoted strictly to skateboarding. There are pictures of kids in the early ’20s riding homemade “bun boards” (according to Greg Noll, “We called those boards ‘bun boards,’ because when you fell you were always busting your ass…”), pictures of celebrities such as Farrah Fawcett riding skateboards, and pictures of surf/skate lore from Mickey Dora to Jeff Ho, Tony Hawk, Stacy Peralta, Tony Alva, and Andy MacDonald. And then there are the boards, from wooden planks with steel roller skate wheels nailed to them to today’s modern marvel composites.

Marcus has collected photos from the Library of Congress, G&S, Santa Cruz Skateboards, Jeff Ho, the Santa Barbara Surf Museum, and a host of other sources. Photographer and collaborator Lucia Daniella Griggi adds her own images to the historical collection to capture a sometimes exhausting picture of the craze, even from times when it wasn’t a craze. Literacy is not required to enjoy this book. Take a few hours (maybe more if you’re old enough to appreciate the early stuff) to flip through the pages, then you can put it down for a few weeks or months, or even years. It will still be enjoyable when you pick it up again — and you will.

Bitter Bitch
By Maria Sveland; Translated by Katarina E. Tucker
Skyhorse Publishing; 240 pages; $22.95

H. L. Mencken once said that the only really happy folk are married women and single men. But Mencken never met Sara, the bitter bitch in “Bitter Bitch.” Sara is so unhappy, bitter in fact, that she must take a respite from husband and child and the cold of Sweden to lounge in the warmer clime of Tenerife. But the couples she observes lounging at poolside or ignoring each other at dinner during her “voluntary solitude” convince her that maybe her life ain’t so bad after all.

Sara and Johann are a thirty-something couple living in Stockholm with their impish-aged son Sigge. She is a freelance journalist and he is a filmmaker struggling to establish and juggle the demands of careers and family. But Sara is angry — so angry that she realizes that she has become a “real bitter bitch, a bitter c*nt, in fact.” She’s so angry that she just can’t take it anymore, and off she goes. The inequality between women and men is what brought her to this point; she even comes to the conclusion that sometimes, the “only way of achieving balance is to assimilate the behaviors and manners of men.”

One must assume that she is referring to the balance between the sexes, but it’s ultimately difficult to empathize with Sara, although I am at a disadvantage from the gender perspective. She rants about her lot in life, yet never seems to come to any resolution. It’s a sad story, but a bit of actual tragedy would have helped the empathy level. Sara develops a list of “conspiratorial facts” that remind her to be a bitter bitch. They run the gamut from mental health statistics to organ donations, and “all injustice: abuse, rape, prostitution, salary discrepancy, . . [that] can be likened to global apartheid.” She has experienced few of the injustices, with the exception of job discrimination, yet seems well on her way to becoming a mental health statistic.

“Bitter Bitch” is a translation of the Swedish novel first published in 2007. It’s a bestseller in Europe, but its reception on this side of the Atlantic may not fare quite as well. Sweden is socialistic, and some of the social intricacies that underlie her anger don’t translate well to our capitalist society. One source of anger is that her husband didn’t take the maternity leave that he is legally allowed, and therein lies the rub. It’s not really her gender that is the cause of her anger; it’s her husband’s perceived lack of resolve in overcoming what society says is his role.

Sveland alternates between present day and recollections of Sara’s life with her parents. She comes from a dysfunctional family, and some of the most poignant passages come from her reflections on her childhood with an alcoholic and abusive father. But she has escaped that environment and built a happy life with her husband and young son, even by her own standards. She adores her son, and even enjoys having sex with her husband — how bitter can she be?

Patrick Smith: The Man Who Helped Define Florida Reflects
By M. Alberto Rivera

Like so many others, Patrick Smith moved to Florida because of a work offer. He became enamored with the state, and in his efforts to chronicle Florida have become synonymous with defining it.

His Florida novels, “Forever Island,” “Allapatah,” and “A Land Remembered,” are poignant and insightful portraits of the state in transition — and not for the better. Smith details the encroachment of development and the loss of a way of life. Initially he was concerned about how “Forever Island” would be received, wondering who on earth would care to read about some Seminole Indians. The book went on to be published in 36 countries, and was enormously successful in the Soviet Union — so successful in fact, that Smith and his wife were flown to Russia and given an all-expenses paid trip through the USSR for two weeks. This visit resulted in another book, “In Search of the Russian Bear.”

Smith threw himself into research for “Forever Island,” spending time in South Florida with the Seminoles, trying to get a proper understanding of his subject matter, just as he did for the book “Angel City.” He talks about both of these experiences in detail in his DVD “A Sense of Place.” The research not only paid off in the authenticity of the details, but in regard to the “Angel City,” which deals with working and living conditions in a migrant camp near Homestead, it brought about actual change. After the book was made into a CBS “Movie of the Week,” there was a public outcry for changes to be made. Laws were enacted to better protect the rights of migrant workers.

But of all his books, “A Land Remembered” is, by Smith’s own admission, “the book everyone wants to talk about.” It chronicles the MacIvey family’s rise from a subsistence existence to unbelievable wealth over the course of three generations, but as much as it’s about them, it’s also the story of how Florida grew from a sparsely populated frontier into a crowded, overdeveloped tourist destination. In the annual statewide “The Best of Florida” poll taken by Florida Monthly Magazine, “A Land Remembered” has been ranked the #1 Best Florida Book eight times.

A native of Mississippi, Smith moved Florida in 1966 to work at what was then Brevard Junior College as the Director of Public relations, a position he held until his retirement in 1988. He has published nine books and still resides in a modest home in Merritt Island, with his wife of over 60 years, Iris.

Smith has been nominated three times for the Pulitzer Prize and his lifetime body of work was nominated for the 1985 Nobel Prize for Literature. The complete list of awards and accolades Smith has received would leave scant room for anything else here, but among them, a section of a major highway — SR 520 running from East Merritt Island across the Banana River to Cocoa Beach — was named the Patrick D. Smith Causeway. He was inducted into the Florida Artists Hall of Fame, and in 2002 Smith was the recipient of the Florida Historical Society’s Fay Schweim Award as the “Greatest Living Floridian.” The one-time-only award was established to honor the one individual who has contributed the most to Florida in recent history.

The Beachside Resident was fortunate enough to catch up with the distinguished man of letters who also happens to be our neighbor.

Why do you think that “A Land Remembered” has resonated so strongly with readers?

A lot of people think that Florida was always Walt Disney and amusement parks. Even though Florida had the first permanent settlement in North America, Florida was also one of the last frontiers. In 1860, the population of the state along the east coast from Cape Canaveral south was about 300 people. Because most living are from somewhere else, it (the novel) gives them an understanding of what a difficult place Florida was to live in. There wasn’t anything here.

Most authors hope to have produced a work that resonates with people and endures. How does it feel to know that “A Land Remembered” will continue to have its own life?

I get a lot of letters about the book. I recently received letters from an Indian School, from down south Florida, and they said they really enjoyed it. They told me Tawanda (the female Indian character) is their favorite character in the book… Because she’s one of them. I’m glad the book speaks to so many people and that it means something to them.
Of your body of work, do you have a favorite?

That’s like asking me to pick between my children.

You were working in public relations at Brevard Community College while you were publishing. Was it ever awkward once you began to publish?

No. Neither job got in the way of the other.

When did you find time to write while working a full-time job?

I wrote at night. Other people would be watching TV and I would be typing.

Based on the popularity of your books you were invited to the Soviet Union, and as a result, you wrote “In Search of the Russian Bear,” pre-Perestroika. What do you remember most from that trip?

They were fascinated by Florida and everything about the state. They wanted to know were there really alligators? They couldn’t begin to imagine an animal like that existing.

In the DVD “A Sense of Place,” you talk about how hard it was to motivate yourself to go down south to do the research for “A Land Remembered.” Was it similarly difficult with “Angel City”?

It was. After a week of work, I’d have to drive a few hours to go work some more. Then, when the weekend was over, drive back to go to my other job. It was backbreaking work.

You worked as a migrant worker in order to properly understand the predicament of people you wanted to write about in “Angel City.” How did you feel when actual change came as a direct result of your work?

It was made into a movie on CBS (and) it created such an uproar about the conditions of those camps that it resulted in new laws being passed to migrant workers.

Did anyone look at you funny when you showed up to work there?

When I went down to Angel City I drove an old VW bug… That didn’t raise any suspicions. But the people there didn’t know what to make of me at first. I’d show up and work. After a while they relaxed around me.

Are there any authors you currently enjoy?

I enjoy John Grisham quite a bit.

There are quite a few Florida writers, like Carl Hiaasen, who write about Florida conservation. Are you heartened when you read their work?

I met Carl Hiaasen back when he was a reporter with Florida Today. I like the way he writes and what he has to say. (Hiassen’s “Hoot” sat on a shelf just behind Smith as we spoke.)

If there was one thing you could change back from the way things are today in Florida, what would it be?

A lot of the development is just needless. We could do without so much construction and make better use of the land.

Your book, “The Seas That Mourn” is based on your experiences in the Merchant Marines. Could you tell me a little about that time in your life?

I was 17 when I joined. My mother signed me in. I was rated an able seaman and I was responsible for steering the ship. I worked in navigation. It was 1945… The war had ended. I never got shot at. I was in the merchant marine on and off for a couple of years. (Those experiences) help you because you meet so many interesting people you wouldn’t otherwise meet. I enjoyed several trips I made to North Africa, to Algiers, Holland, Sweden… I wouldn’t want to do it for a living, but it was interesting. We went to Russia… We were in Uzbekistan. It’s a Muslim nation, and the people then loved Americans.

Do you still enjoy writing?

Absolutely.

Do the awards and recognition you’ve received ever cross your mind when you sit down to write?

Never crosses my mind. I don’t think about it. I just write.

For all things Patrick Smith, visit: www.patricksmithonline.com

Night Vision
By Randy Wayne White
G.P. Putnam’s Sons; $25.95; 352 pages

Could all the uproar about illegal immigrants have come at a better time for Randy Wayne White? Or is it the inspiration for his latest Doc Ford thriller? It’s no matter which came first; “Night Vision,” the eighteenth and perhaps best in this long running series, offers a sympathetic perspective of those who come here in pursuit of a better life — and righteous justice for those who exploit them.

Marion D. “Doc” Ford, Ph.D., is a marine biologist who resides at the fictional Dinkins Bay Marina on Sanibel Island. He collects marine specimens for laboratories, and while it is a legitimate business, it also serves as a cover for his “shadow life” as a government agent. He travels the world collecting specimens, conducting research, and honing skills bad guys generally find troublesome. His best friend, Tomlinson, is an aging hippie with a legendary appetite for drugs and women. “Night Vision” opens with the two on their way to a trailer park inhabited by illegal immigrants to help a young girl. Strap yourself in; that’s about as tame as it gets.

Doc and Tomlinson almost immediately find themselves in a life or death struggle with Fifi, a twelve-foot alligator placed in the trailer park lake by manager Harris Squires, and used to dispose of “undesirable elements.” It’s a ludicrous concept to the average person, but White portrays it in such a methodical, yet vivid manner, that the wrestling match becomes believable and almost disappointing when it ends.

The park inhabitants proclaim ignorance when human remains are found in Fifi, but Doc and Tomlinson know that the disappearance of thirteen-year-old “thought shaper” Tula Choimha is somehow connected, and not in a good way. Doc eventually tracks her to a hunting camp owned by Squires, a steroid-cooking bodybuilder who intends to make Tula “disappear” because she witnessed him “feeding” Fifi. Doc unfortunately arrives shortly after the Latin Kings, a gang of drug dealers and pimps who are upset with Harris for killing several of their prostitutes, and Squires’ girlfriend, Frankie, who is upset with him for stealing some money. It’s a painfully obvious setup for a bloody finale, but White twists the obvious enough to keep it interesting.

Character and justice are recurring themes — Doc possesses the former and dispenses the latter — and Doc’s empathy for the immigrants is a stark contrast to his adversaries who feel nothing but contempt for them. It’s a contrast that mirrors the current public debate, and is eerily apropos for an area with so many itinerant workers. Squires remains contemptuous until he is alone with Tula and comes to see her as a human being, an outcome that seems unfortunately far-fetched in today’s polarized environment.

Randy Wayne White is a former fishing guide who lives on Sanibel Island. All of the Doc Ford novels feature White’s kaleidoscopic descriptions of Florida life, especially the scenery of Southwest Florida. It is sometimes eloquent, sometimes brutal, but always authentic. White is at the top of his game. “Night Vision” is, perhaps, his most visionary work, a pleasant surprise in a series with seventeen worthwhile predecessors.

Do You Read Me?
By M. Alberto Rivera

January brings promises we make to ourselves and others. As I type this in late December of 2010, I look back on the goals I set last year. I no longer make resolutions. Resolutions are strongly worded decisions… Pronouncements declared by governments and monarchs. No wonder people have such a hard time keeping them. If it takes a government to pass a resolution and the laws of said nation to enforce it, what chance do you and I have of keeping one?

So I set some goals that seemed positive and attainable. I set a goal to lose weight. Over the past twelve months I lost 80 pounds. Okay, I lost the same twenty pounds four times, but that’s something, right? There’s something to be said for consistency. I set a goal to begin writing with intention of publishing once again. And so long as I haven’t upset my editor by deadline, I believe I met this goal as well. I also said I was going to use this time as wisely as possible and read 100 books, ones I’d been meaning to get to for the past 20 years but was always too daunted to begin. Right now, I have nothing but time.

January 2010 began with me convalescing from a serious accident. In July 2008, I was nearly killed, and the ensuing treatment has been something of a rollercoaster-like ordeal. One of the medications I was on for 20 months made reading comprehension incredibly difficult. The simplest of sentences confounded me. I read and read, mostly out of habit, but the words didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t remember what I’d read a few minutes earlier. I returned once again to audio books.

Books on audio have been a godsend. I used to enjoy them on my commute to be spared the pain of listening to overwrought drive-time DJs. My own music collection was well worn, and I could barely feign enthusiasm for any of it. Ugh… Meatloaf again.

Even with my head permanently fogged from a daily avalanche of medications, I could usually follow the narrator’s stories without too much trouble. A good reader can bring to life even the biggest stinker of a story, but a bad one will render even the best story unlistenable. I’m going to give a shout-out to George Guidall, who is without a doubt the best narrator I’ve heard. I’ve spent so much time listening to George Guidall’s voice that he’s become the voice in my head. I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve heard him perform.

The most glaring exception to this occurs in Patrick Smith’s extraordinary Florida novel, “A Land Remembered.” This book ought to be required reading for all Florida high school students. Beginning in 1858 and ending in overdeveloped South Florida in the 1960s, Smith’s book chronicles three generations of the MacIvey family from their hardscrabble existence in the palmetto scrub to earning unimaginable wealth from property development.

There’s a moment in “A Land Remembered” in which a nervous groom uses animal husbandry analogies to relay concerns about his inexperience to his new bride on their honeymoon. There is nothing wrong with Mr. Guidall’s reading of the narrative, nor is it out of character. I don’t think there’s a person alive who could make this awkward paragraph listenable. I think I blushed as I heard it, more embarrassed than anything else. The description of coupling cattle made me long for the days of 7th grade health class and all the romance my textbook had to offer.

By far the funniest book I listened to was Artie Lang’s “Too Fat To Fish.” I was making a feeble attempt to clean the garage while simultaneously listening to Artie describe a cocaine binge enjoyed with some coke whores. This was no big deal in itself, until I looked up and found myself surrounded by five girls under the age of ten looking for my daughter to come out and play. Even though the radio wasn’t up very loud, I could clearly hear every expletive as they asked their innocuous questions.

“Wow, you have a lot of records!” one girl exclaimed.

“See the great thing about doing cocaine with coke whores… ” I could hear the drip in the back of Artie’s throat and the delight in reliving his sordid past.

“Did she get a new bike for Christmas? I got a new bike for Christmas! It’s pink with Barbie on it!” another girl explained to me as I stumbled madly to reach the stereo’s off switch.

“See, a coke whore, when she’s jonesin’, will do any damn thing if… ”

I managed to turn off the stereo. None of the girls seemed to have even noticed something was amiss. For days I waited anxiously for one of their parents to show up wanting an explanation as to why their child was suddenly curious about “coke whores.”

I finished “Moby Dick,” the New Testament, and “A Clockwork Orange.” I discovered some amazing books, among them Kirk Scroggs’ ”Dracula vs. Grampa at the Monster Truck Spectacular,” the first of the “Wiley and Grampa’s Creature Features” series of books.  My daughter and I read and re-read each and every Scroggs book the library had. When was the last time you read a book in which pork cracklins featured so prominently?

I finished 134 books, reading about a third of them in hard copy. I suffered through some complete garbage in the process. There were three I couldn’t finish. Mind you, I was heavily medicated for a good part of the year, so you know they must have sucked. I know I’ll get nasty grams sent to me for this, but I think you’re required to have a uterus to find Janet Evanovich entertaining. Sorry, I don’t get it. I like fun, mindless reads as much as anyone, but each time I finish one of her books, I feel like there’s something I’m missing. I read four of her books, and I’m glad she’s making a living, but what the hell? I’ve read cookbooks that don’t mention food or eating as much as she does. What’s this have to do with catching bad guys and cars blowing up?

Chuck Palahnuik is seriously overrated as well. I read four of his books and wondered, much like Miss Evanovich, “Huh?” I think if I was 20 right now I might like him more. He’s vulgar and writes about uncomfortable subject matter, neither of which is a problem for me, but I’m not wowed either. He’s making a living and his books are made into films, so good for him. Glad I use the library.

Clearly, something would be amiss if I wrote about all these books without making some recommendations. So here are a few in no particular order: “A Year in the Merde”; “The Sex Lives of Cannibals”; “The Prosecution of George Bush for Murder”; “Are You There, Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea”; “A Land Remembered”; “Zeitoun”; “Surfing Armageddon: Fishnets, Fascists, and Body Fluids in Florida”; “Juliet, Naked”; “Winter’s Bone,” and “Bite Me.”

My Goals for 2011? Clean the garage, finish writing my novel, and see if I can become the next Janet Evanovich or Chuck Palahnuik.

Life

By Keith Richards, with James Fox

Little, Brown; 564 pages; $29.99

Imagine sitting at a table with a couple of drinks as the person across from you recounts their life. There may be blank spaces, periods of time that are forgotten — or ones you wish the person had forgotten. Now imagine that person is Keith Richards, the former choirboy and Boy Scout who went on to define the rock and roll lifestyle. That’s the experience of reading his recently published autobiography, “Life.” “I haven’t forgotten any of it,” he says on the inside cover. That’s difficult to believe, but even if he has forgotten some, there’s enough here for everyone.

Richards offers few revelations; both his life and the history of the Rolling Stones have been well documented, and he assumes that the reader is familiar with the lurid details. Relationships are the recurring focus, primarily those with Mick, heroin, and music; he has both loved and struggled with all three. He loves Mick “dearly,” but their relationship began to sour as his life headed on the “downhill road to dopeville, and Mick ascended to jet land” just as their fame was peaking. The Rolling Stones have often been viewed chiefly as the duo of Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, and he does nothing to dispel that notion. They remain “friends” and bandmates, but even the casual observer can see the effect of their stormy relationship on their music.

His struggles with drugs have at times overshadowed the music, but that is what has endured. Heroin is the “most seductive bitch in the world,” he confesses, but music is a “far bigger drug than smack.” Richards returns repeatedly to his discovery of the open G guitar tuning that led to classics such as Exile on Main St., and talks at length about his approach to songwriting and guitar playing. There are no apologies for the expositions; “readers who wish to can skip Keef’s Guitar Workshop, but I’m passing on the simple secrets anyway…” he says, but you won’t want to.

Incidents such as Brian Jones’ death and Altamont are glossed over; their light treatment compared to his deeply personal reflections on heroin and other topics leads you to believe that he was not particularly touched by either incident. He didn’t much care for Brian (“a cold-blooded, vicious motherf*cker”), and Altamont was a disaster before it even started, yet it’s difficult to imagine them not having left more of a lasting impression.

“Why did we stop at the 4-Dice Restaurant in Fordyce, Arkansas, for lunch on Independence Day Weekend?” he opens. It’s a question that seems to express some remorse, an odd opening for the story of your life. But there aren’t many who have lived their life like Keith Richards, and therein was the dilemma. He once vowed to “bring down this country and everything it stood for,” and although “Life” seems to be something of a catharsis for Richards, he is unrepentant about that quest or his lifestyle. As he says of his music, “I’m not doing it just for money or for you. I’m doing it for me.”

Play it again, Keef.

The Red Queen

The genre known as historical fiction tends to be a mishmash of bodice rippers, revisionist history, and twisted facts set during tumultuous times. Historical figures appear and disappear, or linger on the periphery of events that feature fictional characters. Philippa Gregory shuns such devices in her new novel, “The Red Queen,” bringing the actual characters to life in a suspenseful and often gruesome story about the future of England.

“The Red Queen” is the second of what has been dubbed the “Cousin’s War Trilogy.” Now known as the War of the Roses, it was a drawn-out affair that featured a series of conflicts over the disputed throne of England between the House of Lancaster — the Red Rose — and the House of York — the White Rose. The novel traces the life of Margaret Beaufort, who is married off at the age of twelve to Edmund Tudor, head of the House of Lancaster. Their son, Henry, has a tenuous claim to the crown, and Margaret feels it is her destiny to put her son on the throne of England.

The House of York has other ideas, and Margaret’s life is consumed with the seesaw war between the two, from her son being taken from her to his exile on the continent, her multiple arranged marriages, and the decisive battle that followed his return and hinged on the uncertain loyalties of a double-crossing nobleman. It is a true story rife with murder and secret deals. There is no need for fabrication; the English nobility provide all the grist needed for that mill.

Philippa Gregory was a historian before she turned her attention to historical fiction, and her stories are thoroughly researched. An extensive bibliography is provided; that seems counterintuitive for a work of fiction, the term “historical fiction” is an oxymoron after all. But the research is there for those who care. The story spans the years 1453 to 1485, an epic span for a single novel. A tedious but necessary battle map and family tree are provided to help decipher the twists and turns, but Gregory manages to convey the nuances of each marriage, battle, and conspiracy without getting bogged down in details. Dialogue is the only apparent artifice, but Gregory so skillfully constructs each character that the reader is left with little doubt that the words actually came from the speakers’ lips.

The seven deadly sins have a long history in literature; they are all present, and Gregory may just as well been writing about them as about the two families fighting for the throne. Lust is the basis of their behavior, whether for power or money. The irony is that they all believed their right to the throne, and thus the right to murder your brother, nephews, and in-laws, was ordained by God. “My God is the God of righteous battles,” Margaret proclaims, and she is a righteous woman. Is it any wonder that a culture so imbued with hubris would go on to conquer or enslave half the world? It was, after all, their destiny.

Star Island

By Carl Hiaasen

Alfred A. Knopf; 337 pages; $26.95

The Skinks of the world have always been my heroes. Not the endangered four-legged variety that inhabit Central Florida, but the one and only former college football star, Vietnam vet, and ex-governor who has become a fixture in Carl Hiaasen’s novels. Hiaasen’s Skink inhabits the swamps of South Florida, and has a penchant for righting the wrongs of environmental rapists who prey on Florida’s natural beauty. “Star Island” includes such a character, but Hiaasen’s sights are set squarely on celebrity lifestyle.

Cherry Pye is the pop star du jour for Jailbait Records, and has the “attention span of a gerbil” and “sings like a frog with emphysema” — and that’s just her bodyguard’s opinion. Cherry also possesses a healthy appetite for substances — any substance that will alter her senses. Her appetite is so healthy that her “team” has been forced to hire lookalike Ann DeLusia to take her place during her frequent bouts of “gastritis.” Cherry exists in a world, or perhaps cloud, of her own. It works for her, but it’s misery for everyone around her, except for Bang Abbot, the paparazzo who is obsessed with her.

Skink and Ann meet when she swerves to avoid running over him while he is removing his next meal from the middle of the road. Skink pulls her from her wrecked car, and she awakens to find herself in the camp of the bald, one-eyed, road-kill eating “homeless” person. But Skink is not without his charms, and the two quickly warm to each other. Ann is eventually kidnapped by Abbot, who mistakes her for Cherry, and she calls on Skink to come to her rescue. He is smitten with the young actress, but his attention is torn between saving the environment and saving her.

“Star Island” is not Hiaasen’s most cohesive work. There are too many diversions that distract from Cherry’s escapades and Skink’s rescue. The two competing story lines (environmental rapist versus celebrity misadventures) never come together, and don’t complement each other in any fashion. The environmental angle even suffers an early, albeit anemic end, when Skink convinces his former lieutenant governor to use his influence to rescind all of the permits. Unnecessary characters are also in abundance, such as country music turned gospel star Presley Aaron (as in Elvis Aaron Presley?), a cross between Hank Williams and Elvis who shares a manager with Cherry. He drifts in and out of the story, but his presence doesn’t contribute anything. The diversions are so scattered that it’s almost as if Hiaasen were injecting an audition as a stand-up comic into his fiction.

Carl Hiaasen has never suffered from a lack of humor, and “Star Island” is no exception. His wit hits the mark with both the truncated environmental disaster and his skewering of celebrity culture. This is satire, and there’s no need to get serious worrying about diversions. Hiaasen doesn’t make that mistake, and neither should we. The emergence of Skink’s softer side is a concern though. Let’s hope he recovers the wits he lost to a female and lives to exact his unique justice on more sleazy characters.

Between a Heart and a Rock Place: A Memoir
By Pat Benetar with Patsi Bale Cox
William Morrow; 245 pages; $25.99

Memoirs clutter the literary landscape these days. They tend to be very personal in nature, and are often written by people unknown to the masses. Pat Benatar doesn’t suffer from such a malady. She was one of the biggest selling acts of the ’80s, and arguably the biggest female rocker since Janis Joplin. She came out of New York, and stormed across the country winning millions of fans and four Grammys in the process. Most people have at least an awareness of the public Pat Benatar, and now comes a glimpse behind the scenes at that creation.

Patricia Mae Andrzejewski was born into a lower middle-class family in Brooklyn. It was 1950s America — the Cold War and Davy Crockett; Vietnam was nothing more than an odd word. Her vocal talent was recognized early on, and she was soon spending hours in classical voice training. But “there wasn’t much room in classical music to go crazy;” her true love was rock ‘n’ roll, and the harder the better.

She married high school sweetheart Dennis Benatar just before he shipped out to Vietnam, and declined a scholarship to Julliard because of him. They moved around to different Army posts after he returned, and she began singing in local clubs. After some success in Virginia where they lived, she took off for New York City. She landed a recording contract, and met the love of her life while auditioning band members. Neil Giraldo had just come off the road as the guitarist in Rick Derringer’s band, and he turned out to be the soulmate she needed to turn the sounds in her head into music.

This memoir is ultimately about the two biggest relationships in her life — the one she shared with second husband Giraldo and the other with her record company. Giraldo is the one who fashioned the sound of the band (though they were billed as “Pat Benetar,” it was a band). He produced much of their catalog, even though he didn’t receive much of the credit. Benatar gushes when talking about Giraldo, so much so that it is sometimes difficult to imagine her as the tough rock-n-roller that was part of her stage persona.

Her relationship with the record company was the exact opposite. Their contract gave the record company almost complete artistic control. Benatar unfortunately relied on a club manager and friend to guide them through the recording industry maze, and he was not quite up to the task. She declared the record company “officially the enemy” after battling them to grant Giraldo the production credit he was due on their second album. It was only after she fired her manager that she found out she could renegotiate the band’s contract, and gain artistic control of their music.

Pat Benatar, a devoted wife and mother, has led a boring life compared to other artists of the era. There are no destroyed hotel rooms or tales of drunken debauchery. The fact that she is a female in a male-dominated world makes this an interesting story. Although she touches on the inspiration for some of her songs, her fans might appreciate a little more focus on the music. But Benatar is still young and continues to record; there’s time to add more chapters. Time is still on her side.

Flying Fish
By Vern Hobbs
Aberdeen Bay; 332 pages; $15.95

At first glance, “Flying Fish,” appears to be yet another quirky Florida novel in the vein of Carl Hiassen and Tim Dorsey. But while it is peopled with suitably unusual characters (including a ghost), Vern Hobbs’ debut novel is something much more

Set in the fictional “hardscrabble fishing village” of Juniper Key, where a ban on fishing has been implemented, “Smiley” Randolph, the reserved editor of the town’s weekly newspaper, is caught in the middle of the town’s struggle to survive. Guided by the ghost of a long dead community icon, Smiley tries to divest the locals of their obstinacy to hear out two unorthodox strangers who may have some solutions to their plight. Can Smiley overcome his limitations to help save Juniper Key? What’s more, can the people of Juniper Key overcome their prejudices and open themselves up to change? These uncertainties are at the core of Hobbs’ splendid, inventive tale.

Hobbs, a Cape Canaveral-based freelance writer, avid sailor, and longtime Resident contributor, could have embraced the easy Hiassen/Dorsey approach for “Flying Fish,” but opted for something eminently more satisfying. “Fish” does have its fair share of intrigue — there are some delicious mysteries to unravel and plenty of behind-the-scenes political machinations — but the key to the novel’s success lies in Hobbs’ respect for simplicity and skill at characterization. It’s almost a given that Juniper Key’s inhabitants would be eccentric, but Hobbs gives them warmth and more flesh, which imbues them with a timeless, almost Dickensian presence. More resonant archetypes than straw-stuffed caricatures, Luraleen, Ginny, Polly, Rodney… all of them, however minor, linger long after the book ends. Smiley himself is a fantastic character; we grow with him as each event unfolds and root for his victory. Moreover, you root for the lovable people of Juniper Key who develop in tandem.

Hobbs also evokes the quintessence of Florida life with gentle mastery. Along with its characters, Juniper Key comes to glorious life through creative suggestion, much like Steinbeck’s Cannery Row, a place that’s eternal as it is inchoate.

Add to these qualities a gripping, multi-armed plot, and you have that rare summer novel — one that keeps you turning its pages and provokes thought. We can’t wait to hear more from Vern Hobbs… and Smiley Randolph. — PTB

Flying Fish is available for purchase through Amazon.com. Visit Aberdeen Bay online at: www.aberdeenbay.com.

Let’s Ride: Sonny Barger’s Guide to Motorcycling

What is the world coming to? We have an unending war, the world economy on the brink of collapse, and now Sonny Barger writes a “How-To” book? Is this really the same Sonny Barger who is a founding member of the Hell’s Angels? The same Sonny who did time for… oh, never mind — this isn’t about Sonny; it’s about what it takes to become a lifelong motorcyclist, one of Sonny’s stated goals in writing this guide. To Sonny, a motorcyclist is a person who may not even own a car; a person who doesn’t just ride a bike to work when the weather is nice, but takes extended cross-country trips; someone who can have a relationship with an inanimate object — and his hope is to make you one.

Sonny knows bikes, and he gives you a good bit of the knowledge he’s gained over his 60 years of riding. He assumes the reader knows nothing, and goes over every nut and bolt and insurance policy and biker stereotype, beginning with his reasons for riding, from better gas mileage and the brotherhood (especially if you’re in a club), to the freedom of the road. He’s a “buy American” guy, but surprisingly not a Harley fan, and he thinks even less of Italian bikes. “If you must buy Italian, it’s best to stick to their guns and shoes…” he advises.

I’m not a rider, and what would have turned into a boring book for me was made palatable by Barger’s sense of humor. Unfortunately, Sonny appears to get a little bored himself about halfway through as his humor fades away. This also seems to be about the point where the proofreader quit (both grammar and spelling suffered, i.e. “there” versus “their”). These may seem like small transgressions, but not something you would expect from a reputable publisher. And does he really need to tell you to “get a metric tool set” if your bike “uses metric-sized bolts and nuts?” Even I know that. The evolution of motorcycle design provided an occasional relief from the mundane world of nuts and bolts. Of particular interest is how Harley Davidson “sold motorcycles that were worn-out antiques even when they were new.” But Barger stuck with Harleys because they were the best American bikes, until Victory came out with a better one in the mid 1980s.

This book is for the person who knows nothing about bikes, but wants to in a bad way. Barger states over and over that it takes dedication to be a rider. He talks of the brotherhood he feels through his membership in a “1%” club, and the dedication it takes to be a member, never mentioning that this club is the Hell’s Angels. That shouldn’t matter, but I would never have known of Sonny Barger if not for the Hell’s Angels. But again, the book is not about Sonny or the club he belongs to. It’s about what it takes to be a motorcyclist, and who better to write it than someone who has truly devoted his life to it.

TORTILLA FLAT

John Steinbeck is one of a handful of American authors awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in the last century. He is perhaps best known for “The Grapes of Wrath,” and to a lesser extent, “Of Mice and Men.” While those novels are dramatic in nature, the lesser-known “Tortilla Flat” features a cast of lovable losers even Tom Joad could both laugh at and relate to.

The novel revolves around a group of men who spend most of their time looking for wine and two or three dollars rent to pay their friend Danny, who inherits two houses in the Tortilla Flat area of Monterey, California. Danny allows his friends to live in one — at least until they burn it down and move into the remaining house with him. Pilon, Pablo, Big Joe Portagee, and Jesus Maria are all ne’er-do-wells looking for an easy buck or gallon of wine, but their interest always lies in the well-being of others, particularly Danny.

“Tortilla Flat” is not so much a novel as a collection of stories. In one episode, Dolores “Sweets” Ramirez, a woman “whose eyes could burn behind a mist with a sleepy passion which those men to whom the flesh is important found attractive and downright inviting,” takes an interest in Danny. Danny succumbs to her wiles and “assaulted her virtue with true gallantry and vigor.” He “procures” a vacuum cleaner for her, even though she has no electricity, never mind that the vacuum cleaner has no motor. Sweets is proud of her appliance and can be seen sweeping her floor every day. She “did not neglect Danny,” who now spends every night at her house. His friends grow worried about him, and “reprocure” the vacuum cleaner to save Danny from this selfish woman.

Danny is the lone Caucasian, and a revered figure to the others. In their eyes, he has suffered much through the war and the bad luck that always befalls them. The story collection finally comes together as a book in the end when Danny falls into depression and his friends organize a party in his honor to cheer him up. Danny grows to superhuman size through the night, walks outside in the early morning, and engages in what is described as a monumental fight with an unknown being. No one witnesses the fight that he loses, but all the friends seem to recognize it as a fight for each of them. The story is set in the years immediately after World War I, and the characters are all veterans. Their daily grind is to find wine, but Steinbeck infuses his characters with a certain nobility by using Shakespearean dialogue: “where hast thou been?”; “art thou thirsty?” etc. Doth thou understand? It can be read on many levels — as an indictment of the treatment of war veterans, as a social commentary that is a ubiquitous Steinbeck theme, or as a simple tragicomedy.

“Tortilla Flat” was Steinbeck’s first critical and commercial success. It’s difficult on the surface to find any redeeming qualities in the characters, but the noblesse oblige that would come full force in Tom Joad and George are beginning to emerge. It’s a book that can be put down for a few months and picked up again without losing any of the flow — and one that should never be considered for a yard sale. — Mark James

The Humbling

Doesn’t Philip Roth realize that retirement is part of the American dream? At the ripe old age of 76, he’s recently released “The Humbling,” his 30th book and eighth this century, and he has another due for publication in a few months. His latest is the story of an aging actor who has lost his ability — thus the humbling. Could this be Roth foretelling his own artistic demise? Can he be serious?

The story opens with Simon Axler, celebrated stage actor, interpreter of Shakespeare, Ibsen, and Chekhov, having lost the art that brought him fame and fortune with a reputation as the “last of the best of the classical American stage actors.” “He’d lost his magic,” the narrator tells us in the opening sentence. Axler begins to contemplate suicide in the same fashion as Ernest Hemingway (coincidence?), his wife leaves him, and he ultimately checks himself into a hospital. While there, he meets Sybil Van Buren, a woman committed by her husband after she witnesses him molesting their young daughter. She tries to convince him to murder the husband, but he can’t be convinced, and Sybil fades away when Axler checks himself out after 26 days.

Simon retreats to a lonely but comfortable existence in his country house until Pegeen Mike Stapleford arrives — a woman 25 years his junior who had “lived as a lesbian since she was twenty-three,” and also happens to be the daughter of old friends. Axler even won the honor of selecting her name in a contest before her birth. What he sees now is not a lesbian, but a “lithe, full-breasted woman of forty.” A relationship — both physical and emotional — develops, and he begins to experience a rebirth of sorts. Pegeen becomes the muse he lost; he flirts with the thought of acting again, and considers fatherhood for the first time. Just when he feels life may be worth living, Pegeen abandons him and all is lost.

Roth has often been unfairly typecast as a chronicler of the Jewish experience in America. Many of his books are about Jews trying to fit into a non-Jewish society in a fashion that sometimes tends towards nihilism. In a broader context, his characters are just outsiders that could ultimately be any minority. Roth never identifies Axler as Jewish, but he is an outsider — an actor whose skill for losing himself in the roles he plays. Once he loses his art, he finds himself in the unfamiliar role of himself, an undeveloped character trying to fit in.

There is ultimately no point to this story, much as Simon Axler can find no point to his life without acting. It’s also a bit short for a novel, almost as if Roth ran out of inspiration and decided to just end it. But given his prolific output of the past decade alone, it is difficult to imagine that it is autobiographical in any way. Even with the brevity and the pointlessness, Roth’s prose is still enjoyable — the work of an author who has not lost the magic.  — Mark James

Breath
By Tim Winton

218 pages; Picador Press, 2008

ISBN-13: 978-0-312-42839-6

Taking breaths on a regular basis is a good thing, so it’s a little odd that Tim Winton’s novel “Breath” begins with a teenager who isn’t breathing at all. But Bruce “Pikelet” Pike, the paramedic first on the scene, recognizes what the boy has done, and that event sparks a reminiscence of his teenage years, a foreboding beginning to what’s billed as a coming-of-age story for a couple of Australian surfers. But as Pike looks back thirty-five years later, it doesn’t seem as if any of these characters ever came of age — and only a few survive.

The 12-year-old Pike discovers a mutual attraction to thrill-seeking with Ivan “Loonie” Loon, and the two are soon fighting for waves in the cold waters off the western Australian coast. Sando, the local legend, takes them under his wing and eventually pushes them into surfing some secret breaks only he knows about. But Pike realizes his limits when Sando takes them to Nautilus, a triple-overhead wave one mile offshore that breaks in three feet of water. Pike realizes he’s in over his head in more ways than one, and Sando mocks him as he stays in the channel, safely away from the impact zone. As he watches Loonie take off on a wave he can never make, Pike realizes that he is “after all, ordinary.” Sando then begins to cut him out of his extreme sessions, eventually heading out on Indo surf trips with Loonie for months at a time.

Pike feels abandoned, a feeling he shares with Sando’s wife Eva, a former extreme skier trying to recover from a career-ending accident. The expected happens when boy meets girl, and as with surfing, he soon finds himself addicted to her despite their age difference. Like her husband, Eva takes Pike under her wing on a journey of sexual awakening. But he discovers that her sexual proclivities can be just as deadly as Sando’s wave selections, as she pushes him to places an ordinary person like him doesn’t want to be.

Later, Loonie, Sando, and Eva all leave Australia, each chasing their version of the “perfect wave.” Pike is the only one who doesn’t embark on that journey, and Winton chooses to summarize the time between the departure of his three friends and the discovery of the dead teenager who begins the novel. The story essentially ends as a result, and you wonder if the teenage years were a catalyst for the true coming-of-age experienced in the intervening years.

“Breath” was originally published in 2008, and has recently been reissued in paperback. It’s set in the early ’70s before competition ruined the surf world when the “legends” were shadowy characters, not sponsored and spoiled media hams. There were no leashes, high-tech wetsuits or high-performance boards, just foam, fiberglass, and one or two fins. Winton does an excellent job of capturing both the exhilaration of riding waves and the fear that sometimes comes with it. He’s also equally adept at capturing sexual exhilaration — and sometimes fear (read the book!) — for both Pike and Eva. Both are flirtations with death that Pike chooses to avoid. Winton invites a comparison between surfing and sex, as well as a conclusion: they can be a lot of work, but well worth the effort. – Mark James

In it, recently divorced treasure hunter Marshall Cross finds himself down on his luck. His foundering archaeology-themed amusement park, Treasure Island, is being threatened by ruthless real estate tycoon Denton Barrett, and Cross is hoping for a big find to stave off selling his dream. Finding Pizarro’s golden sword, an intricately carved, razor-sharp rapier lost in a hurricane in 1715 off the coast of Brevard County, would do just that. Cross’ problems mount when news breaks that a meteor is forecast to strike the Atlantic, threatening to send a mammoth tsunami barreling into the Florida peninsula. From undersea shipwrecks, to gator-infested swampland, to Kennedy Space Center — Cross’ adventures find him going toe-to-toe with Barrett’s paramilitary army, a seductive zookeeper, and a surly bull shark named Marge. Can Cross unearth Pizarro’s sword, save Treasure Island, uncover an astronomical conspiracy, and find love — all before the meteor crashes into the ocean and his new-found adversaries turn him into shark bait? You won’t know till you read it.

The folks at Lost Treasure Magazine call A Sword for Pizarro a combination of “the maritime adventure of Clive Cussler, the breezy escapism of Jimmy Buffet, and the witty mystery of Robert B. Parker,” while others attest to its great serial potential. Either way, Ryan’s entertaining novel, the culmination of a year and a half of what he calls “planned spontaneity,” puts Brevard County indelibly on the literary map.

We asked him a few questions at rusty rapierpoint…

What do love most about living beachside?

Ahh, beachside… Where the only thing hotter than the July mid-day sun is the venomous sting of the fire ant. Brevard County is a beautiful and wild paradise. It’s the only place on the planet where you can witness the future, with multi-million dollar NASA rockets blasting-off for the dark recesses of space, and at the same time see the world at its most primeval, in the untamed swampland where the gator rules supreme. I only spend a few months of the year in Brevard, and the rest of the year in the Northeast U.S. I often refer to myself as a dyslexic snowbird, since it’s usually the summer months I’m in Florida.

How did the idea for “A Sword for Pizarro” come about?

I initially wanted to create a sort-of anti-Indiana Jones adventure hero. A character maybe not quite as noble, not as smooth, but a bit more relatable and endearing than the fedora-wearing treasure hunter. I don’t recall when or where I came up with the plot; it had always sort of been in my mind. I began writing the story in St. Thomas, V.I. in the summer of 2005.

How does Brevard figure into the plot?

All of the action takes place North of Sebastian Inlet and South of the Cape. The hero, Marshall Cross, owns an archaeology-themed amusement park in Cocoa. He docks his boat at Port Canaveral and his girlfriend lives in Melbourne. The entire story is set among the sandy dunes and ABC liquor stores of the Space Coast.

What kinds of places are local readers likely to recognize?

A number of local landmarks figure prominently in the story, including Kennedy Space Center, the Cocoa Beach Pier, the Zoo, and even Disney World.

Are some of the characters based distinctly on locals you’ve met, or are they amalgams of different people from your travels?
You might meet our hero Marshall Cross sipping a rum and Coke at Grills Tiki Bar at Port Canaveral. Or you might find his sidekick Diego Espinoza eating a Bistec de Palomilla at Mr. Cubano’s Cuban sandwich shop. Fact? Fiction? I’d say a little of both.

When did you first begin writing in earnest?

I knew by the time I was in my teens that I wanted to be a writer. I was reading Kerouac and Bukowski and writing short stories and submitting off-beat poetry to small press journals when I was 18. During my college years, I worked as an editor on a number of philosophy textbooks. After school, I began freelance writing, which I continue to do today.

What are some of your influences?

I don’t usually read the same authors over and over enough to be influenced by one particular writer, but I greatly enjoy the conversational banter in mystery author Robert B. Parker’s books, and that has certainly rubbed off on me.

What is your writing schedule like?

I have a hectic schedule, and as much as I’d like to have a daily writing routine, I don’t. So my desk is often littered with scraps of paper scribbled with ideas and my computer is filled with first-draft files. I do try to write something every day, though.

What question do you most often get regarding the writing craft?
I get asked by aspiring authors, “How do you start writing a novel?” and I always say the same thing: “You don’t have to start at the beginning.” Just start writing — it could be in the middle, or somewhere in Act 3. What was originally going to be the very first paragraph of A Sword for Pizarro ended up in the last chapter. When you write, just let it flow, and worry about putting it in some kind of order later.

What other advice do you have for any budding writers out there?

Write for the right reasons. Write because you want to be read, because you have a story to tell. For every Stephen King and J.K. Rowling, there are a thousand underpaid unknown authors who still enjoy their craft regardless of never seeing their name on a bestseller list.

What does the future hold for you? Do you have another book in the works?

I’m currently working on the sequel to A Sword for Pizarro. It’s set in Brevard and the Abacos Islands and concerns a research vessel missing in the Bermuda Triangle and the appearance of a mysterious submarine.

What’s the last book you read?
Galleon Alley, by my friend Bob Weller.

What is your fondest memory?

It’s said that the sense of smell is the one most tied to memory; that you can smell a scent you hadn’t experienced in 30 years and recall feelings and emotions and the precise location of where you were the last time the odor touched your olfactory system. With that being said, every time I return to Brevard, I’m greeted with the smell of the sea air and the oleander flower that instantly transports me to childhood vacations in the Sunshine State.

What is your bitterest regret?

Nada.

If you could travel back in time to any era, where would you go?

I’d like to travel back to the American Revolutionary War, with layovers in the Jurassic period, and Honolulu, January 14, 1973 (Elvis’ “Aloha from Hawaii” concert).

If you won the lottery, what would you do with the winnings?
Travel more. Maybe buy a stateroom on the cruise ship The World. Maybe book a compartment on the Trans-Siberian Railway.

Favorite meal?
Hot, crispy tacos with an ice-cold Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.

Favorite film?

“Jaws,” and not for the reason you’d think. This movie always spoke to me in different ways throughout my life. When I was young, I identified with the salty, roguish Quint. During my college years, it was the geeky Hopper. And now that I’m a husband and father, it’s the patriarchal Chief Brody I identify with. In the 1970s, most kids were into “Star Wars.” I loved my “Jaws.” Always have, always will.

Favorite music?

I enjoy everything from classical to disco to salsa y merengue. And if you live in Florida, you have to love Jimmy Buffett. I think it’s a State law.

What would you choose to come back as in your next life?

“Jaws,” and not for the reason you’d think.

Any parting words of wisdom?

Please visit www.HoldFastBooks.com and order a signed copy of A Sword for Pizarro! Throughout November, the book is discounted 20% off the newsstand price, making it a great holiday gift for yourself or a loved one. Filled with high-seas excitement, breezy humor, and tropical romance, A Sword for Pizarro has it all!

For more information about Tom Ryan and A  Sword for Pizarro, visit: www.holdfastbooks.com or www.myspace.com/illdrinktoyourleg